


Mourning Bride

by magic_kiwi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Sad Ending, don't kill meh, klangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 14:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18625024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magic_kiwi/pseuds/magic_kiwi
Summary: Keith has been working at a small animation for the past year. All his coworkers are really nice, and then there's Lance. More often than not, both end up arguing about the littlest things. Despite all that, Keith still considered the Cuban boy and the rest of his coworkers as the family he never had.He's called into work early one day and it flips his world upside down.





	Mourning Bride

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had an assignment in my English class. We just finished studying short stories and my teacher wanted everyone to write one. Whole butt-load of requirements: foreshadowing, figurative language, irony, symbolism, etc. Makes my head hurt.
> 
> Me being the complete and utter trashcan for Klance and since I'm in a Hanahaki mood, this is what ended up happening. Figured I'd post it while some of you wait for me to finish the next chapter of Omega. I changed names for the one I'm turning in and used the Defenders of Tomorrow AU names since those aren't copyrighted (I think), so if there's any different names that's an oopsies on me. Anyway, hope you enjoy! Pls don't kill me afterwards. ^^;;
> 
> Also, thanks to my brother for beta-reading this for me! (He probably won't see this, lol)

Early mornings and crowded elevators do not mix when Keith is rudely awaken from the sleep he’s barely gotten. Yes, he loves his job as an animator and his coworkers are hilarious but being jam-packed into an elevator with twenty-plus people all going to different floors was a little much. Pale hands grip at his messenger bag’s strap as he tries to ignore how the humidity’s jumped in the tiny space. It feels like he can’t breathe; something stuck in his lungs and won’t go away until he gets out of the crammed elevator.

The elevator dings, the digital panel above the doors displaying his floor number. He pushes his way through to the front of the elevator, mumbling apologies as he shuffles through the congestion. Stepping off the platform, he can finally breathe as he walks down the hall, blowing a stray piece of his ebony hair that fell out of his low ponytail out of his face.

Key card scanned, he gently pushes the glass door open. Normally he’d be in much later, but his boss had called him at six-thirty saying that he needed Keith in earlier. Something to do with being short-staffed for the day. He was supposed to get coffee on the way over to help wake him up but driving a motorcycle with a to-go cup in hand wasn’t the best idea. Good thing the office had a coffee machine with double espresso shots.

The animation studio was small, but home-y; six stand-up desks facing each other, each equipped with a computer, drawing tablet, and whatever its person decided to add. A door off to the side led to his boss’ office, next to it was a counter and mini-fridge for breaks. It’s easy to hear the hum of electricity flowing through the room.

“Morning, Pidge,” he greets the high school intern already seated at her desk, setting his bag down on his chair and stretching as a yawn escapes his lips.

“Morning,” she mumbles back, eyes trained on the tablet screen as she finishes lining something. “Why’re you in so early?”

“Boss called me in,” he shrugs, glancing around the room. Blue eyes land on one of the empty desks, yellow daffodils resting in a vase with a _Feel Better!_ card leaning against it.

“Where’s Lance? Isn’t he usually here by now?” he asks Pidge, rummaging around his bag for the flash drive he has his progress backed up on. The orange-haired girl looks up at him, setting her stylus down on the stand before resting her face in a hand.

“He didn’t tell you?” Keith shakes his head. “He’s in the hospital.” He whirls on her, eyes wide and the search for his thumb stick forgotten.

“What? Why?” Pidge takes her round glasses off her face, folding them up and setting them down before muttering something under her breath as she rubs her face.

“Hanahaki.”

“Hana-what now?”

“Hanahaki,” she says louder. “It’s also known around as The Flower Disease.”

He hums in response, walking over to the counter and grabbing a mug out of the cabinet. “What is it?” Pidge stands, walking over and pushing herself to sit on the countertop.

“Basically, it’s a disease that comes from one-sided love. Flowers start growing in your lungs and you end up either coughing or throwing them up to get rid of them. It’s-” she stutters, taking a breath before continuing. “The roots will burrow into your lungs, using your body’s nutrients to survive and keep producing flowers. Usually after anywhere from five to six months, it can kill you.”

As she’s taking, Keith pours the steaming liquid into the cup. “Jeez, sounds rough. I’m assuming it’s got a cure?” He hands her the mug, which she gingerly takes and sips at, nodding to answer his question.

“There’s three different outcomes,” she says as he pours himself another cup. “One: get the flowers surgically removed. The victim stays alive, but they lose all romantic feelings and memories for the person that they love. Two: the person they’re pining over reciprocates their feelings, which causes the flowers to dissipate on their own. Or three: Don’t do anything about it and leave the Hanahaki to kill them.”

He leans against the counter, sipping at the coffee and trying not to burn his tongue. Eyes drift back over to the daffodils sitting on Lance’s desk.

“How far along is he?” The high schooler fidgets where she’s sitting, drumming her fingers against the mug.

“Closer to six months.” Keith almost chokes on his coffee, staring at Pidge wide-eyed.

“What?!” She waves a hand in front of her, trying to calm him down.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry! He’s scheduled for the surgery today,” she reassures him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “That’s why he isn’t here and in the hospital.”

Keith breathes out a sigh of relief, relaxing back against the counter as he spins the cup in his hands. Both go silent as they stay sitting in the break zone. He feels a pang in his chest. Sure, him and Lance aren’t that close and they tend to argue more often than not, but it’s painful that Lance never told him and that he never even noticed Lance was sick.

“If, um, if you don’t mind me asking,” he mutters, staring at his distorted reflection in the brown liquid. “Who does he love so much that he got Hanahaki? I mean, you two are really close, so I assume he’s told you. You don’t have to answer if it’s a touchy subject.”

The short teen sighs, setting her barely-touched mug down on the countertop. She rubs her eyes, the debate clear on her face before she turns her head to the side. Soft words leave her lips, quiet to anyone who would be listening, but they ring loud in his ears.

“It’s you.”

The mug leaves his hands, slipping out of his grip and spraying the hot liquid all over the linoleum floors as it shatters. The sound is muffled, like he stuck his head underwater while waves crash above. His thoughts are thrown about, different memories filling his head as recounts the past year he’s spent at the studio.

Lance flirted with everyone; it was a joke in the studio at this point. He tried wooing Pidge when she first interned, and he was on the floor in two seconds. Lance even tried to flirt with him, but they just bickered nowadays. Either way, now that he knows Lance has feelings for him, he realizes that he likes the attention the other man gives him. How had he been so oblivious to it?

Fingers snapping in front of his face draws him out of his daze, blinking owlishly as he faces Pidge. “Keith? You okay?”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” he mutters, brushing his bangs out of his face. “Oh my god, Pidge. Which hospital is he at?”

She cocks her head to the side, tapping her fingers against the counter with a guilty expression plastered on her face. “We didn’t tell you since it was kind of obvious you didn’t like him bac-”

“Pidge!” he grabs her shoulders, startling the small girl. “If you guys had told me I would’ve realized that I do like him and he wouldn’t have had to be in so much pain!” Brown eyes blink twice before growing to the size of saucers.

“Oh my god,” she mutters, blinking again before hopping off the counter. “Oh my god, what?!” His heart stutters in his chest as he starts pacing, the mess on the floor long forgotten.

“I just realized it now after you told me and- Oh god, he’s getting the surgery.” Pidge runs over to her desk, unlocking her phone while grabbing a stray pen off his desk. Hands fumble at the drawers by her desk, ripping a sticky note off the stack and scribbling something down.

“There’s a ninety-six percent success rate with the surgery.” Her eyes drift towards the analog clock mounted above the door. “Lance said he wasn’t getting the surgery until around our lunch break. Go, you have a good chance of catching him before they prep him.”

The teen shoves the sticky note into his hands, the hospital name and address scribbled down in messy but legible handwriting. He doesn’t need to be told twice as he grabs his keys hooked on his bag before shoving the door open and running down the hall. The elevator would take too long to call, so he throws open the door to the stairwell and runs down.

He slams the parking garage door open, typing the address into his phone before hooking up his earbuds and shoving them into his ears. Hopping onto his bike, he jams the key into the ignition. It purrs to life and he pulls out of the spot, listening to the directions his phone gives him until he pulls into the hospital parking lot. His phone pings, text message glowing on the screen as he speed-walks towards the entrance.

_He’s in the intensive care unit. Good luck, Keith! -Pidge_

Feet fly up the steps, barely registering anything around him until he sees the plaque for the ICU. He pushes the door open, eyes scanning around the waiting room. Chairs litter around the border of the room, some scattered in the center. People sit in some as they wait for loved ones.

Shaking his head, he walks over to the receptionist’s desk as his heart hammers in his chest. His eyes drift over to the sardonias set on the counter before he looks at the lady sitting at the computer.

“I need to see Lance McClain. He’s scheduled for Hanahaki removal surgery today and my friend said he was in the ICU.” The nurse gives him a once over, steel grey eyes meeting his before answering.

“I’m sorry, sir, but visiting is for fami-”

“Please,” he begs, cutting her off mid-sentence. “I need to see him. I need to tell him before he gets the surgery.” Her eyes turn sympathetic as his words, anguish crossing her features.

“Sir,” she starts slowly, like she’s treading on thin ice. “He already had the surgery.” Keith feels his body freeze, eyes wide. His mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.

“The surgeon had an opening last night before he left; they already operated on your friend.”

“No. He can’t have- please, can I see him?” he chokes out. He’s begging at this point but he couldn’t care less. “The surgery has a four percent chance of failure, yes?”

“Yes, but-”

“I need to take that chance. Please, I need to see him.” The receptionist sighs, looking around the room before handing him a clipboard and pen.

“Write your name, phone number, patient visiting, and current time down,” she says. His handwriting has never been the best, but he scribbles down everything needed before handing the board back.

The receptionist points down the hall. “Room 312. Good luck.” She pats his hand before he takes off in the direction she pointed in, not stopping until he reaches the room. Taking a shaky breath in, he raps his knuckles on the door twice, calling out Lance’s name.

“It’s open!” Lance shouts, voice muffled by the door. Taking a deep breath in, he opens the door and peeks his head in. His coworker sits on the hospital bed, arm hooked up to an IV drip and wearing the standard pale-blue hospital gown.

“Hey, man,” Keith says, walking over to Lance with hands in pockets. “Pidge told me about the surgery. Feeling alright?” He glances around the sterile white room, eyes landing on the pink, purple, and blue convolvulus flowers in the trash. Wincing, he looks back up at Lance, bright smile on his face.

“Yeah, I’m feeling a lot better. Feels great not having to cough every few minutes.” Keith flashes a smile at Lance, shifting his weight to one side as he worries his bottom lip with his teeth.

“Listen, Lance, I…” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck before letting out the breath he’s holding. “It’s taken me a while to realize this, but I, uh, I really like you. Like, more than just a friend. I know we didn’t get off on the best foot and we bicker all the time at work but maybe we coul-”

Lance holds up a hand, silently asking Keith to quit his rambling. He complies, swallowing the lump in his throat as his breathing hitches. “Keith, I’m sorry. I… I don’t feel the same way.” Blue eyes drift to the floor as hands clench in jean pockets. He tries his best to force the tears back. The surgery worked.

“O-oh. Um, okay. Sorry about that then. Guess I was reading the situation wrong. Forget I said anything,” he mumbles, flashing a fake smile at his friend. Something tickles the back of his throat and he coughs. “Well, in any case, I should get back to the studio. Gotta pick up your slack while you’re gone.”

“I should be back in a few days,” Lance snorts. “Can only go so long on vacation, even if it’s for medical reasons. Thanks for stopping by, though. I am really sorry I can’t feel the way you want me to.”

“Don’t sweat it,” he shrugs, coughing again into his hand as his throat starts itching. “No hard feelings. I’ll see ya later.”

“Later. Tell everyone I say ‘hi’!”

Keith shuts the door, hand slipping off the handle. Coughing again, he walks down the hall back to the entrance with a heavy heart. The coughing doesn’t stop this time; the itch getting more intense the more he coughs.

His legs give out on him as he crumples to the ground, tears streaming down his face. He can’t stop coughing as he braces his free hand on the floor. The coughing stops abruptly and he feels something fall past his lips and into the hand over his mouth. Pulling his hand away shakily, his eyes widen at what’s there.

A purple verbena flower rests in the center of his palm.

**Author's Note:**

> Hidden meaning stuff since I can't keep it to myself and even if it was required, I love adding stuff like this in. Since the main thing of the story is Hanahaki, I hid a lot of stuff in the flowers mentioned.  
> \- Daffodils are pretty, sure, but they actually stand for unrequited love. It was too tempting not to use them.  
> \- Since I decided to have not one, but two ironic moments, I added mention of Sadonias, which just happen to represent irony.  
> \- I'm not sure if the color variation affects what they mean, but Convolvulus Major stand for dead hope.  
> \- Purple Verbena flowers usually stand for regret. You can probably guess why I chose it for Keith's Hanahaki.  
> \- The title, Mourning Bride, is actually a flower as well. It's used to represent unfortunate attachment.
> 
> I'm a horrible person, but this was a lot of fun to write. Too bad I had a word count limit and I'm too lazy to add more in. Maybe sometime later I'll add more.
> 
> My Instagram: [@_magic_kiwi_](https://www.instagram.com/_magic_kiwi_/)  
> 


End file.
